


for a pinch of gold (i'd see you burn)

by lionsenpai



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a rendezvous in a hotel between two (almost) allies</p>
            </blockquote>





	for a pinch of gold (i'd see you burn)

Mikasa runs her hands along your brand new suit, up the sides, under the collar, along the arms, and all you can do is scratch your nails along the headboard where they're shackled while she skims her hands over every inch of you.

"This isn't necessary," you bite out, flushed with embarrassment and more than a little resentment.

"You think?" she asks, finding the transmitter at your cuff and unsnapping it. The look on her face is victory. The look on her face is total domination. She presses her thumb into your hip and you have to steel yourself against the jolt. "I think you're lying."

She picks up the transmitter and drops it into a glass of water on the hotel nightstand. It crackles and shorts with an electric hiss, and all at once you feel panic blossom in your breast. You swallow and tell yourself not to feel bad. You tell yourself Mikasa Ackerman has a record that would make anyone sweat.

She's been all over the world, and her work follows her every step of the way. Germany, India, Bulgaria, and Ukraine; she's been connected to politcal scandal and unrest in every single one of them, and while there's nothing solid connecting her to the deaths of several influentials in the area, you don't doubt she's seen her share of dirty work. There's no hesistation in her trigger finger.

"It's uniform," you try, curling your fingers into fists. It takes all your effort to stay otherwise still under her gaze. "If I'd known you were coming I wouldn't have it."

"And this," Mikasa says, taking your 9mm from your hip and setting it down beside you.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, tipping your head back when she pats down your legs. She won't find the second transmitter in the heel of your boot you hope. "The next meeting is two weeks from now."

"Two and a half," she agrees. "But I wanted to check in on you."

She doesn't smile. Mikasa never smiles when she's with you, but that doesn't mean she's not enjoying this. She siddles closer to you, fingers playing with the buttons of your jacket,and pushes her hair back behind her ear, her mouth a perfect line. She has no tells. The most you get from her is the vague understanding that she likes you like this, likes to see you squirm.

"Everything's fine," you say, trying to ease your pulse before she hears it thrumming in your chest. You have many tells, none more so than the color in your cheeks. It's all she needs to know. "My loyalty is unquestioned. Nothing is going to happen."

She looks at you carefully after that, and you try to make yourself a wall. You imagine stone, the cool face of granite, but Mikasa has been doing this for years and your experience is far less impressive. You fidget under her gaze and slide your hip a little closer to your gun.

She zeroes in on the movement immediately, and in one easy motion throws her leg over your hips and takes the gun in her hands, fingers closing on the grip like a familiar caress.

Mikasa's black dress rides up around her hips, and she holds the weapon up to inspect it in the light. "Unquestioned," she repeats, not even looking at you. She ejects the magazine and leans forward over you to set it on the nightstand next to the glass of water with your shorted transmitter. "I wouldn't say that."

You go tense. Your mouth is cotton, your forehead slick with sweat. You hear your own pulse in your ears, but nothing is louder than the sound of the slide when she pulls it back and lets it go forward with a snap.

"You didn't notice me because I wasn't wearing my scarf?" she asks, finally looking back at you.

You manage a nod.

"People change their colors for all kinds of reasons," Mikasa tells you. "I want to make sure yours won't change."

This is why you're here. This is why it had to be you, why you had to be the one to let her come to you. This is why they needed someone with no history, with no experience, no threat. All for the sake of one lie.

"I won't," you say, voice small and eyes wide.

She kisses you. It is feverish and wet and there is tongue, and it's only when she pulls away, her red lipstick smeared, that you realize you're leaning up into her as much as you can, your legs pulled up behind her back, your neck straining up for her. You realize she's _smiling._

Mikasa dissambles your 9mm all while you fidget and twitch beneath her, breathless and hopelessly wanting. She lays the pieces out in neat order on the sheets next to you and then seems to remember you as though you were an after thought. She touches the curve of your jaw.

"I'll be in touch, Annie," she tells you and slips off you and the bed with practiced grace.

Mikasa leaves you like that, though she later sends up a blushing attendant with the key to your shackles. He lets you free and you nearly melt of embarrassment, but you steel yourself admirably, collect your things, and makes for the door.

It is a long hike back to headquarters from where Mikasa picked you up off the streets, but when you finally get back, no one mentions the lipstick on your lips. You march right into the director's office and tell them, "She trusts me."

Hanji looks up from their papers and smiles. "Good. Then we'll move to phase three: capture."

Mikasa Ackerman will never see you coming. You're a pawn to her, a piece to be used and thrown away. You're new. You're inexperienced. You're stupid. You're Annie Leonhardt, and no one has ever conned her as completely as you. By the time she realizes you're playing doubles, it will be too late. You look forward to the day you see _her_ in cuffs.

(and the part of the lie that makes it so perfect, the part that makes an old pro like Mikasa Ackerman believe you, is the part you don't admit to anyone.

it's the part where she kisses you, you go light headed and weak, and when she draws her fingers along your skin, you can't keep thinking of all the people she's killed--only of the _good_ she could do with those hands. it's the part where every meeting leaves you wanting more. )


End file.
